Fate: Zenith
by JackOfTheGreen
Summary: An uncorrupted Grail manifests for the Sixth Holy Grail War. With the Three Founding Families removing themselves from the War, seven Masters and seven new Servants all rush to claim the Grail to grant their truest wishes-or, in Waver Velvet's case, the chance to make good on a promise made long ago...
1. Chapter One: Knights Move First

Foreword: Canonically, Waver Velvet and Tohsaka Rin dismantled the Holy Grail in the 2010s. But this author wonders what would have happened if Waver had been given the opportunity to claim an uncorrupted Grail, and fulfill an oath of fealty made long ago...

Note: I am aware that the correct term for energy present in humans and animals in the Fate universe is "od." I'm using the word "mana" instead for simplification and because I think the word is not as weird or strange or od. See what I did there?

Disclaimer: I'm one of those guys who watched the anime but never read the light novels. Apologies if I contradict canon!

 **Introduction**

The Holy Grail—the cup that held the blood of Christ, its name now synonymous with ultimate achievement.

For hundreds of years, mages from every corner of the world have fought to claim it, their battles spilling rivers of blood, all in the name of attaining their truest desires. Five times since its inception by the Three Families of Tohsaka, Einzbern, and Mato has the Holy Grail War been raged. Each time legendary figures have appeared to fight for their Masters as Servants, brought from the distant past and future to fight to the death. Each time, the Holy Grail War has caused untold death and destruction.

By the Fifth Holy Grail War, that death and destruction had consumed the Three Families themselves. The Mato conserve their strength, in vain hope of one day recovering. The Einzbern, having tried their best, have retreated back into their hidden castles. And the last head of the Tohsaka wants nothing to do with the Grail...

But the War continues. For the seventh time, Command Seals have appeared on the hands of the chosen Masters. With the old powers of the Three Families now gone, new ones have taken their place, no less eager to claim the Grail. From the halls of the Vatican, from the Great Plains of America, from the modern fortresses of Korea, seven new Masters have summoned seven new Servants...

The Seventh Holy Grail War has begun. This is the story as it is remembered.

And, like so many stories, it begins in London town...

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _London, England_

 _The Clock Tower_

 _9 o' clock at night_

It was different this time. A different Servant would entail a different incantation, of course, but there were also more subtle changes. Last time, he had stumbled into it. Last time, he had no idea what he would wish for. Last time, he was a child meddling in a very, very grown-up game. Last time, he lost.

This was not like last time.

He was a fully grown now, a man of body, mind, and station. He wore his customary dark suit, a crimson coat thrown over it and a golden scarf wrapped around the lapels. His hair fell down long and dark, and his eyes were focused and calm. He was not the nervous boy he was so long ago.

"Let silver and steel be the essence." he intoned. Unlike sixteen years ago, he was now sure and steady, and kept his eyes fixed on the summoning seal carved into the library floor—a major improvement over the one he'd drawn into his bedroom.

"Let the oaths of kings and saints bind strong the foundation of our contract." He breathed naturally, evenly, letting the words slip out with a practiced patience. "Let the blue of the sky at day and the black of the sky at night be called upon."

"Let rise the winds that toss the sands. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."

As he spoke, he picked up the tempo. Now, the rest of the room began to fade in his eyes, not because of any physical reason, but because his attention was drawn just to the now-glowing seal, and the scrap of cloth inside. A scrap of cloth so similar to the one he had stolen so long ago...but this time faded into a sort of gray, rather than crimson. Perhaps, at one point, it had been blue.

"Let it be filled!" He cried out. Alright. There was no going back now. "Again. Again. Again!"

He was shouting now, letting his composure crack slightly. The light of the seal had reached blinding levels. He raised his hand, commanding the seal. He paused, briefly, to draw breath, this time ragged and harsh.

"Again."

The searing light dimmed to a soft glow. Lord Waver El-Melloi II Velvet lowered his hand.

In front of him stood a dark-skinned man, dressed in loose pantaloons and a wraparound skirt of white canvas. His feet were clad in wood-and-reed sandals, with a few simple bracelets of gold hanging around his wrists and arms. His dark hair was knotted loosely back, and his face was covered by a bushy beard.

He did not look like a prince, but you would not have mistaken him for anything else.

Waver's new Servant carried a resplendent gilded bow in his right hand, and a quiver packed with arrows in his left. He stood in the straight but relaxed manner of someone who knew how to command a room. Waver would know—he'd learned how to do it himself, although he suspected his Servant never had to learn, and was probably born a leader. He had met someone like that before. Someone with the same red eyes. Someone used to being in command, used to giving the orders. A commander, a ruler, a king.

It was odd, then, that the first thing this noble prince asked him was "are you my Master?"

Waver nodded. "I am."

* * *

 _London, England_

 _The Embassy of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea_

 _2200 hours_

"Isn't there any more?"

"No, sir. The ritual is actually very simple, once the catalyst and Command Seal have been acquired. The Grail handles the actual summoning and binding, and the Master is only called upon to donate their mana."

Kim Yun Sung snorted derisively. "Had I known it was going to be this easy, I would have done it myself. Now I feel like an idiot with all of you standing around."

The Second Consultation Room was packed. Attendant wizards stood in three concentric circles around the center of the room. Armed guards awaited just outside, notably carrying swords at their hips to complement the rifles in their hands. In addition, there were a large group of secretaries,photographers and artists there to bear witness and record this historic moment.

But the room itself was dominated by the presence of three men, standing in a rough triangle facing the summoning circle inscribed in the center of the room. One of these men wore the irregular robe-like uniform of the Secretary of Magic. The other displayed an absurd amount of war medals on top of his general's uniform.

The last was a young man with short, swept black hair who had rolled up the sleeves of his uniform jacket, partly to show off how confident and relaxed he was (and against a backdrop of flawless military precision, the effect was noticeable) and mostly to show off the livid red Command Seal on the back of his right hand. This last man was Captain Kim Yun Sung.

His attention was on the golden ring in the center of the summoning circle.

"Begin mana amalgamation!" ordered General Truong, his voice ringing with authority. The Secretary of Magic made a subtle hand signal behind his back. One guess as to which command the wizards heeded. As a single unit, they linked hands, and began murmuring the incantations they'd spent the last year rehearsing. Even Yun Sung, who had never quite taken to the study of magic, could feel the power in the air. "My Servant will be _strong,_ " he murmured to himself. "Perhaps, strong enough to keep up!"

"Begin your incantation now, Captain." Secretary Minh said softly. Yun Sung nodded sharply, before flashing his friend a wicked smile. Laughing, he replied: "Let's hope I remember all the words!"

Minh Tae Jong didn't crack a smile. Yun Sung didn't notice, his attention focused on the relic before him. He raised his hand, arrogantly, grasping, with little of the poise that Tae Jong would have used, had he been in Yun Sung's place.

"Silver and steel are the essence!"

Tae Jong resisted the impulse to facepalm.

"The oaths of kings and the promises of saints strongly bind the foundations of our contract!"

 _ **Let** the oaths of kings and the promises of saints **bind strong** the foundations of our contract. _ Tae Jong silently corrected. He could not believe it. They had practiced so many times—not even Yun Sung should have been able to make such mistakes! And so many of them!

"I call upon the red of the sky at dusk and the violet of the sky at dawn." _What?_ Tae Jong's eyes widened. This was no mistake. It couldn't be. This was not something ad libbed or improvised. It sounded too natural. No, Yun Sung must be going off his own damn script! And...and...it was _working._ The summoning circle was responding.

"The rising wind scatters the wandering sands! The four cardinal gates close fast! The three-forked road rotates, reaching from the crown to its kingdom!"

Tae Jong stiffened as he watched the tableau. _What is he_ _ **doing?**_ _And_ _ **how?**_

"Now fill! Again! Again! Again!"

The light forced everyone else in the room to shut their eyes and turn away. Yun Sung did not. And neither did Tae Jong.

" _Again!"_

The light died down quickly, but Tae Jong's eyes recovered slowly. For a moment, he saw nothing but the hazy outlines of the room, with a soft glow coming from a figure in the center. When his eyes refocused, he saw the Servant that had been summoned using his mana, and that of his wizards. She was beautiful.

Her hair fell down from her winged helmet in wavy locks of chestnut. Piercing hazel eyes swept across the room, and Tae Jong felt goosebumps across his skin as those eyes passed over him, briefly meeting his own. She was clad in bronze, finely worked plates of metal covering her breast, her wrists, her shins, with scaled mail covering her forearms and thighs with leather and fur filling the gaps. Everything about her radiated strength, from her rigid stance to her strong jaw to the shining shield and spear of silver and steel she held confidently in one hand.

 _This is a woman,_ Tae Jong thought. _A woman worth dying for._

"Are you my master?" She demanded. Tae Jong screamed inside. _Yes! Yes! I am!_

"Yeah." Yun Sung answered. "So you're my Servant. Lancer, huh? I was hoping for Saber."

" _What?_ You _dare—_ do I not meet your expectations?" Lancer hissed between her teeth, her grip on her spear tightening.

"Nope." Yun Sung said, studying his Command Seal. "This thing broken? I didn't expect my _Servant_ to be so disrespectful."

"And I didn't expect my _Master-"_ in her mouth, it was a vulgar insult. "-to be a whining brat!"

Yun Sung's boredom faded away. " _What_ did you call me?"

"A brat, because that's what you are. Look at you! You couldn't even summon me on your own! Look at all these wizards and guards around you. Did you even participate in the summoning? You don't look like much of a wizard at all!"

"Yeah, because I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not a wizard. That magic stuff bores me."

Lancer let her jaw drop, completely flabbergasted. Tae Jong could relate. The idea of Yun Sung being a Master was insane to him as well...but the Command Seals had manifested on his wrist. His.

"You—you are no true Master. You _cannot_ be worthy."

"Yeah?" Yun Sung snapped, now riled. "Well your opinion doesn't matter, _Servant._ According to the Grail, I am still your Master and you will treat me with respect!"

"Make me. If you know _how,_ that is!"

"Fuck yeah I know how!" Tae Jong winced. Surely Yun Sung was smart enough not to waste a Command Seal on this! _Oh, what I am saying. He's not smart enough to do an incantation right. No wonder Lancer's so unruly—she wasn't bound properly._

Yun Sung then surprised his attendants, and Tae Jong, and most of all Lancer by stepping forward and kicking her in the face. His foot snapped up sharply and drove the heel of his boot squarely into Lancer's jaw.

Her head jerked back as she staggered out of the circle. The wizards behind her jostled each other out of the way as Yun Sung pressed the attack, stepping forward to fire off another kick. Lancer ducked, but his instep caught one of the wings in her helmet and caused her to stumble. Snarling, she raised her shield to block Yun Sung's next kick while jabbing forward with her spear.

At their close range, Yun Sung was able to grab onto the spear, anchoring himself against her weight. Snarling himself, he drew the combat knife from his hip and slashed at Lancer's face. She surprised him by leaning into the strike, deflecting the knife with her cheek armor, and then pushing forward into him, throwing him backward.

Yun Sung dropped his knife to avoid landing on it and rolled quickly to his feet, coming up just in front of Tae Jong, who was still standing in shock. He fell back out of the way when Lancer came charging forward, her spear flashing. Her Master drew his pistol from his left hip with his left hand and gave her the finger with his right.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" He screamed as he fired four shots that Lancer deflected harmlessly with her shield. Grimacing, he threw the pistol at her and fell back to his tried-and-true technique of kicking her in the face. Lancer switched it up by parrying the thrown pistol with her spear and swinging her shield forward. Yun Sung's foot bounced uselessly off the shaft of the spear and his upraised arm painfully caught the edge of her shield. Despite himself, Tae Jong cracked a smile at Yun Sung's gasp of pain.

Exulting in victory, Lancer laughed as Yun Sung stumbled back. She lunged forward with her spear—but only to have Yun Sung duck beneath it to land on his knees. Irritated, she kicked at his face, now at her waist-level, which was her big mistake. Her Master grabbed it, his fingers tightening like vises. He fell onto his back as his leg flew out and swept Lancer off her remaining foot. She fell in a crash of leather and bronze on the stone floor of the Consultation Room.

"I am your _Master!_ " Yun Sung shouted at her as he stood up. He grabbed her by the wings on her helmet and hefted her up. "You will ob-"

He stopped talking after Lancer smashed her armored fist into the side of his face. Now Yun Sung hit the floor, while Lancer regained her balance. Standing over him, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared down at him. "I am your Servant!" She cried out in response.

For a few heartbeats, they just stared at each other, him on the floor and her standing over him.

"And I will obey you—so long as you teach me how to kick like that."

From his position on the floor, Yun Sung looked up, and laughed. Lancer grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him up. "I think..." he said as he faced the armored warrior.

"We'll actually get along just fine, Lancer."

* * *

 _London, England_

 _St. Catherine's Docks_

 _11:37pm_

Xandra Hart stood on the roof of a pub at St. Catherine's Docks, with two swords in her hands and two dogs by her side. The dogs had names, and so did the swords. She didn't expect trouble, but she had learned to be cautious from an incident in her childhood. She had also learned to trust dogs. She learned both from the same incident, in fact.

"I'm a bit giddy, to be honest." she said to her dogs. "I'm not sure if it's excitement or fear or whatnot, but it's making me jittery. Oh, I sincerely hope this is all going to go according to plan..."

Managarm woofed, not because he was a dog and that was what dogs do, but because he was a familiar in the shape of a dog, and that was what familiars in the shapes of dogs do.

"I get what you're saying." She had no idea—humans can't understand dogs, or familiars in the shapes of dogs. "Well, there's no point fretting about it. Might as well get it over with."

Garm woofed, not because he was a familiar in the shape of a dog and that was what familiars in the shapes of dogs did, but because she had ended a sentence with a preposition and he did not approve in the slightest.

"Alright, smoothly and evenly. I'm fourth-generation, this should be no problem..."

She inhaled and exhaled three times, as she was taught, and then began.

"Let silver and steel be the essence."

"Let the the saintly vows and royal oaths bind strong the foundation of our contract. Let the grand star of the day and the little stars of the night be called upon."

"Woof." said Managarm, because it was getting bright.

"Let rise the winds that toss the sands. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate!"

"Awooo!" Garm and Managarm both howled, because it was an intense moment and it seemed fitting that they should howl. Xandra appeared to realize the intensity of the moment too, and raised the two swords high.

"Let it be filled! Again. Again, again, again!"

Both swords snapped out of her hands, and Xandra fell back slightly. The searing light of the summoning had coalesced into the figure of a man standing before her. Her cardigan was blown back over her shoulders, and hung loosely from her arms. Her light brown hair, never in the best of order, was tossed haphazardly out of place. She managed to keep her footing, assisted by Garm, who helpfully pushed her back onto her feet. Managarm leaped in front of her, hackles raised and teeth bared, ready in the event that the newcomer proved to be harmful. She shifted her glasses back into place, to fully take in the sight of her new Servant.

"Ay!" the man said. "The Grail warned me about the fashions of the day, but I am still surprised at their...boldness. Such would _not_ have passed in my day. You look positively _Moorish,_ dressed in pantaloons like that. Are you not ashamed?"

"Um..." Xandra replied, a bit taken aback. "I'm not sure what just came out of your mouth, but it didn't sound like "are you my Master?" which is the question you should have asked. And yes, I am, in case you're wondering. And these _aren't_ pantaloons. They're cargo pants."

"They are hideous, is what they are! My lessons from the Grail tell me that this is common dress of the day, even for women, but-"

"But _fuck you,_ I dress fine. Welcome to the 21st century."

"I am most assuredly _not_ welcome, given the abysmal—why can't you at least cover your ankles, girl?"

Xandra sighed irritably. "Goddammit. I bet none of the other Masters have to deal with this shit. Anyway, you're one to talk. Look at you! You look like you just sashayed out of a Vegas strip club!"

He wore a simple helm with a single feather rising from the tip, and a metal cuirass. That was the only sensible bit. The rest was layers of wool and cloth and satin that confusingly stacked on top of each other and spilled from every available point of attachment. He also had an outrageous beard. The two swords she'd held in her hands now hung from his hips, in fancy scabbards of polished wood with ivory inlay and gold filigree.

" _I_ am proud of my appearance. Unlike _you,_ unkempt tramp."

"Are cheap insults all you're good for? Can you do anything else?"

"I know what I can't do. I can't stand pointless commoners who don't know their station."

" _Commoners?_ Seriously?" Xandra shook her head. "Not that it matters, but for the record, my name is Alexandra _Hart._ Eldest daughter and current family head of the Kencester Harts. Read through your stupid Grail memories and see if you can remember _that._ By the way, fuck you."

The Spaniard actually took her advice, and his brow knitted for a moment as he searched through his muddle of memories. Then, his jaw dropped to the floor, followed by the rest of him, as he bowed—literally _bowed_ —in front of her.

"Countess! Forgive me, I did not think. You appearance—ah—I mistook you for a—that is, I did not mean to offend..."

"Fuck you again, Saber. I don't care what you think, so long as you can fight."

"Fight, Mistress?" he said. The Spaniard straightened up, and with a dashing smile stared at her right in the eye. "That, I can do."


	2. Chapter Two: The Good Old Thames

**Chapter Two**

 _London, England_

 _The deck of the_ Millennium Sapphire

 _Around midnight, I guess?_

" _Again!"_

Now, I've been around the block, once or twice. Actually, hundreds of times. They wrote a book about the most popular seven, I think. Or was part of an anthology? I can never remember. They missed all the best bits, anyhow. Never trust writers1.

I've had all sorts of adventures, from sea serpents to barbarians to gigantic birds to gigantic birds' eggs and islands that turned out to just be really big whales, and even some old guy who was actually really, really heavy. More on that later.

And that was just when I was alive!

The Grail pretty much infodumped a lot of knowledge in my head. Including the word infodump, oddly enough. Everything from the modern world to the mechanics of the Holy Grail War. And if what the Grail tells me is correct, most Heroic Spirits do not retain memories from the previous times they've been summoned.

Who knows what shenanigans I've been up to since I died. I might have been summoned half a dozen times before this War. Why, I might have even-

"Are you my Servant?" the guy in the gray suit asked.

"Eh?"

"Are you my Servant?" he repeated.

"Uh, do you mind? I'm kind of having a moment over here, y'know...and anyway, aren't I meant to ask you the opposite question? The whole "are you my Master" thing? There's a procedure here!2"

"Yeah, one you've already fucked up. I summoned you five minutes ago and you didn't say anything for that whole time, so I thought it was on me to start the conversation."

"Ah, shit. Sorry about that. I get distracted sometimes. Uh, wanna try again?"

"It's cool. And yeah, let's try again. Er...yeah." The guy seemed like an ordinary bloke, like the guy you run into at the market every so often, except that he looked sorta African. Oh, shit, Grail memory time. The correct term is "African-American" apparently. Wait. America? What the hell is that?3

He cleared his throat. "Let it be filled, again, again, againagainagain..."

He waved his hand. That was my cue. I cleared my throat as well and intoned, with appropriate gravity and sonority: "Are you my Master?"

"Stop, stop! What the hell is up with that voice?"

"Oh, that? I just felt that the situation had a lot of gravity, and so I needed a deep voice, you know..."

"You sounded like a Monty Python character!"

"I'm sorry that my Noble Phantasm isn't voice mimicry or whatever. I did the best I could!"

"Ugh, nevermind." He rubbed his forehead with his hand. I got the distinct feeling that this conversation wasn't going well.

In fact, my Master didn't seem doing well either. Despite wearing what should have been a dapper grey-suit-black-shirt ensemble, he gave off a distinct aura of desperation and dishevelment. Perhaps it was the crooked collar. Or maybe it was slight whiff of some crappy beer that pervaded his breath. Or it could even be the livid red bloodstain that covered half of one leg., with accompanying bullet hole.

"I'm guessing you won't be playing much hopscotch for the next year or so."

"What?" He looked down. "Oh, yeah, the _madrasa_ guards were less than thrilled at my stealing your catalyst."

"Looks pretty bad. That's a lot of blood. Am I going to have to get a new Master soon?"

"Nah, I hit up a healer on my way here. I'm good. Just want to get out of the cold and wet and into someplace _warm._ I saw a pub on the riverbank earlier."

Oh yeah. He'd summoned me on the deck of a boat, which was only appropriate, I suppose. I gave the surroundings a quick three-second glance, in which I noticed several pertinent details. First off, we were on board a river cruise ship—broad and wide, surprisingly deep keel, ten knots maximum and fuck-all acceleration. Somehow, I also knew it was called the _Millennium Sapphire_ 4 _._

Next, we were on the river Thames, in London. I had a general idea of the city's geography, courtesy of the Grail. I knew of the Thames thanks to my newfound memories, but my own finely honed sense of nautical knowledge indicated that we were not just in a river, but in a...dirty one5. Right. I should probably find a map.

Third thing I noticed was all the damn fat seagulls. Seriously. How did they get that fat without being shot and eaten? I almost wished I'd been summoned into the Archer class. I make a fine seagull roast.

And finally, the weather. The weather is always the most important bit. In this case, London appeared to be under a fairly even overcast, the sort that drizzles but never really rains down. The winds on the Thames were blustery and inconsistent. Not good for sailing, but manageable.

And I noticed all that in three seconds, just to remind you6.

"A pub, you say?" I smiled at him. "We think alike!"

 _Writers-_ (n) a form of parasite, known for leeching truth and squirting out lies. Kill with fire.

There probably was. I didn't know it.

Allah be good, I missed an entire _continent?_ No, wait, I missed _two_ of them? I'm the greatest sailor who ever lived and I missed _two continents..!_

All the good physical bits about a boat come to me naturally, just from experience. However, I'm not sure how I happen to know the name of every boat I set foot on, without being told or seeing the nameplate. It might be some bizarre aspect of my Noble Phantasm, but I gotta say...pretty useless power, if you ask me.

Finely honed _seafaring_ nautical knowledge, I should have said. Rivers are boring and confusing. Fuck rivers.

Yeah, I'm that good.

 _London, England_

 _Suffolk Bridge_

 _1 o' clock in the morning_

Farther upriver, on the Suffolk Bridge, a lone figure in a black rain slicker stood in front of a summoning seal, cursing the elements. Summoning this Servant would require a specific location, or rather, a specific type of location. Had he the opportunity to acquire a different Servant, he would have done so in a heartbeat. Anything to get out of the damn cold. His blond hair was slightly damp, and fell limply in his eyes instead of flowing backward like it was supposed to. Irritation flashed in those green eyes, dimly reflecting the light of the summoning circle.

He ran through the incantation in his head again, just to make sure he had it right. He'd been practicing for _weeks_ now, but still he felt nervous, like some first-year! _Curse it all, it can't be that hard,_ he thought to himself. _If Waver bedamned Velvet can do it, so can I._

 _All at once. I'll do it all at once and get it over with quickly._

He tossed his hood back and raised his hands to address the summoning seal. "I am an adept of the Clock Tower! Velvet could do this, I can do this!" Despite himself, his disobedient mind added _Waver Velvet was a year older than you._

"So be it." He hissed to himself. "Then my achievement will be more impressive than his."

"Let silver and steel be the essence."

"Let the the oaths of kings and saints bind strong the foundation of our contract. Let the deep blue sea and the stark white clouds be called upon!"

 _It's working!_ The glow of the summoning circle grew stronger in pulses, like a bed of coals being fanned. Encouraged, he threw himself back into the incantation.

"Let rise the tossing winds and turning waves. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate!"

"Let it be filled!"

The searing light was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Again!"

He could almost _see_ the shape of the Servant within, the answer he was looking for. "Again!"

 _There!_ There she was! "Again!"

 _Was that four times?_ He panicked for a second. He wasn't sure how much an extra or missing "again" would effect the incantation. _It probably doesn't matter. Should I say it—_

"Again!" he cried out.

The blast was practically a thunderclap. He covered his eyes with his arms, and when he lowered them, he beheld Assassin.

She was short, scarcely over five foot four. She crossed her arms behind her back, the tip of a handfan peeking out behind her. A jian hung from her left hip, opposed by a pistol on her right. Her robes were of azure silk, bordered by sea-green and crossed over with a black sash. Surprisingly, her hair hung down in a loose ponytail held back by some strange hairpin, rather than being done up in some traditional hairstyle.

He couldn't tell how old she was. She was beautiful, regardless, her Chinese features lending her a form of agelessness. She looked so petite and delicate...belying what he knew of her bloody history. If half the stories about her were true, then he had probably already won the Grail War.

"Boy! Are you my Master?" she addressed him sharply.

"Boy?" He snapped back. Before he could continue, she cut him off.

"I'm sorry. Are you a girl? I can't really tell, with your long hair and distinct lack of manly—or womanly, for that matter—traits."

"Servant!" he snarled. "I am Raynard Archibald, the future Lord El-Melloi III!"

" _Future_ Lord El-Melloi?" Assassin cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes. The future, _soon-to-be_ Lord El-Melloi. If you do your job correctly, that is."

"Really? Is that your goal for this War? What a boring, boring wish." 

"What I wish for is none of my concern, just as what you wish for is none of mine. All I care is that you will assist me in winning this War."

"Assist you-? Impossible."

"What?" Raynard said. His Servant's flat denial of the obvious stunned him.

" _Im_ possible _."_ Assassin reiterated. "You are not providing nearly enough mana for me to defeat a chicken, let alone another Servant. I'm liable to be blown away by a stray gust of wind."

"I am of the tenth generation of the Archibald family-"

"Tenth generation? Im _poss_ ible. It's theoretical you could be second generation—if your parent was lazy and astoundingly weak—but tenth is an absurdity. You are likely the first of your family to be a mage."

"My family's Magic Crest was stolen!"

"Ah. So you _are_ first-generation."

"You will help me retrieve it!" Raynard was practically howling at his recalcitrant Servant now.

"Of course, I'll try, boy." Assassin said in a bored tone of voice. "But we need a source of mana the likes of which you cannot provide."

"I will find you one, as soon as possible. There are several locations in London where ley lines converge-"

Interrupting him again, she turned away from him to look over the edge of the bridge. "But even that will be our second priority. There is something else we must do first."

Catching sight of his confused expression, she flashed him a wicked smile that had once been the terror of the South China Sea.

"Well, my pet, we're going to capture a ship."

 _London, England_

 _Beneath the Collegiate Church of St. Peter at Westminster_

 _Time enough_

"My name is Sofia Asuncion Malates de Catalan,"she said to herself, and to Him. "And I am blessed for this opportunity."

The summoning circle had just been carved into the tile before the altar, and lying on the altar itself were the three sacred relics that had cost the Holy Church so much pain, time, and blood to obtain. The relics that had cost _her_ so much to obtain. A fragment of his Grimoire occupied one side, a chip of stone from his Tomb occupied the opposite, and between them lay his key.

The summoning ritual was not that of the other Servants. The powers at play here were different. As Sofia knelt, murmuring the words, it was not a powerful magical invocation that was sent out into the ether, but a soft-spoken heartfelt prayer.

"Holy Spirit, who guides our works, thy will be done. Our blessed Father, who rules in Heavens, hear my plea. Sacred Son, our struggle is, as ever, for you. For you, we call upon your Champion."

Sofia bowed her head slightly deeper, and her hands pressed together more tightly.

"Champion, let the silver of your treasury and the steel of your army be the essence."

"Let the the oath of the king of saints who dwelleth in heaven be the strength that holds fast our bond. Let the testament of Seth, of Noah, of Jakob and David be called upon."

"Let fall the walls of Jericho and let rise the towers of Jerusalem. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom of the Lord our God rotate!"

"Let it be filled! Again. Again, again, again!"

There was no flash of light.

"So."

He was there in front of her, half-sitting, half-standing against the altar with his feet flat against the floor. His Grimoire was a fragment no more, now nestled in its complete form in the crook of his elbow. His key hung suspended as a pendant around his neck. He was dressed in rich, kingly robes of royal blue and yellow, with a hat in the style of Old Babylon perched on his head, and dark ringlets escaping from it. Everywhere, he seemed to be bedecked in bangles and medallions of gold and silver, save for his hands, which were completely bare...with the exception of a simple golden ring on the smallest finger of his left hand.

"I have been summoned to be your...Servant, yes?"

"I am _your_ servant, sire. You are to be the Champion of our cause, and the Holy Church-"

"Yes, yes." Caster waved his hand dismissively. "I am sure that you are the most humble whatever penitent of the Order of Whoever, but honestly it's all just pleasantries. What you call me doesn't matter. In the eyes of the Grail, I am a Servant. And you-"

Here, he extended one long finger at her, slowly, gracefully.

"-are my Master. That has conditions, ones you cannot avoid, no matter what pretty titles you come up with for me."

Sofia simply averted her gaze and clutched her hands together in front of her.

"The most stark of these conditions is that fact that you must provide me with mana...although you are _not_ a mage."

"No, sire, I am not." Sofia answered. "But I am a trained Inquisitor of the Holy Church. I have been told that I am fierce in battle, and my Faith in the Lord is strong, and I shall not-"

"That is irrelevant." He didn't say it in a dismissive way, nor in a patronizing way. Just as a matter of fact, with no emotional attachment. A diplomatic way of speaking—no, a kingly one. "The fact of the matter is that you cannot provide me with the mana I require to win this War. As such, we will have to find a suitable site with abundant ambient mana to make our stronghold."

"This Abbey is the convergence point of several ley lines, my liege..."

"It is also terribly conspicuous. This is the first place our enemies will come, and make no mistake, our enemies are strong. This Abbey will fall before them if we try to make our stand here."

"His Holiness has seen fit to provide a detachment of Swiss Guards to the Abbey-"

"They will serve as ample distraction whilst we make our escape." Caster nodded approvingly. "For our part, stealth will serve as a better protection than any as we seek out a better lair."

"There are numerous other locations in London wherein the ley lines converge..."

"I have already identified such a site. In fact, it is one I have seen before—although I did not expect to find it here. You may know it as Cleopatra's Needle..."

"The Needle, your Grace?" Sofia bowed low. "Your will be done. I shall take you there."


	3. Interlude: The Overseer

**Interlude—the Arbiter**

 _London, England_

 _The Clock Tower_

 _Much too early in the morning_

"Why me?"

"Who else?" The old shaman shrugged, her shawl shifting heavily. "You are one of the last representatives of the Three Families. You have experienced the War, and know well the dangers that await. You are a powerful mage. This makes you eminently qualified."

Tohsaka Rin crossed her arms and shook her head, gritting her teeth in annoyance. She was sitting down in her study, packed with books, gems, artifacts and scrolls of great magical importance. She had removed her coat, and the swirling, interlocking patterns of a dozen or more Command Seals peaked out from beneath the long sleeve of her black turtleneck. Rin remembered the chaos that one Command Seal on her hand brought her. She did not look forward to dealing with a dozen.

She glared pointedly at the shaman standing in front of her desk. Jenna Rushing Stream was a Lakota mage, supposedly very powerful. _That's what seventeen generations of magecraft will do for you,_ she thought to herself. Most mages of the Clock Tower knew _of_ her, at the very least, but she had not been known to leave the Black Hills of her people very often. Her coming to England was nigh unbelievable.

"I had thought that the Holy Church would arbitrate the War. They've done so the last six times."

"And a fine job they've done staying neutral, haven't they?" Jenna smiled ruefully. "Taking sides, stealing Servants, killing Masters..."

" _Watch it."_ Rin hissed at the shaman. She did not need to be reminded of what Kotomine Kirei had done to her father.

"Mm. My apologies." Jenna said, not sounding very apologetic at all. "But your family's tragedy only demonstrates why the War requires an honest overseer, and why the Church can no longer be trusted. After all, they've sent another one of their Inquisitors to claim the Grail..."

" _What?"_ Rin shrieked. "After last time, they're still after the Grail?"

"Kotomine's actions reflected Kotomine's agenda, Ms. Tohsaka." Jenna replied. "His motives were not those of the Church. The Vatican may still seek to claim the Grail—after all, it may be that this Grail is uncorrupted."

Rin leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples. "An uncorrupted Grail. Forgive me if I'm skeptical. But alright, fine, I see your point. The War needs to be arbitrated well. Yes, I'm a good candidate. But couldn't you also do it? You're seventeenth-generation. Not even El-Melloi would challenge your arbitrations."

Jenna shifted her shawl to reveal the back of her right hand. A flowing, almost calligraphic Command Seal glowed livid red upon it. "I'm afraid my serving as overseer would create a conflict of interest." She said, smiling sardonically.

"Ah." Rin said, sighing. "So that's why you came to London."

"It is indeed."

"Which one did you get?"

"Berserker."

Rin pondered this for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, her brown knotted together in thought. She flashed her eyes back and forth, finally resting on an old photo of her father, safe inside a magically sealed frame. And next to it, the stupid parrot-shaped letter opener Shiro had sent her from the Honduras.

It really was an ugly letter opener. But that was Shiro for you.

"Very well, then." She sighed again. "I'll be your overseer." Rin stood up, placing her hands defiantly on her desk and leaning forward to skewer Jenna with her gaze. "But I will take duties seriously, and remain neutral. That means I will favor _no_ combatants. Not even you."

Jenna smiled, this time sincerely. "I would expect nothing less."

* * *

Note: And thus begins our story. Read, review, print out and burn, do whatever you like! From here on out we'll see some actually Servant-to-Servant combat, romance, drama, a whole lot of tragedy and other good fun. See you soon!


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